Through the Eyes of an Indian Girl

She thought her thoughts were simple. She never understood the logic of Kajal when she knew her tears would take it down her cheeks every time she cried over the smallest things. She never understood the logic of not being able to wear black clothes on auspicious occasions when she knew that was the colour that matched her soul. She never understood the logic of marrying at the ‘right’ age if you didn’t find your soulmate, your other half. She never understood the logic the wearing branded clothes when her thinking would remain the same. But what she didn't realize was, this was the thinking that made her unique. It was these thoughts that made her different from all the people of her age who thought that using Kajal would make their eyes bigger. Who believed in wearing reds and blues during auspicious days. Who wanted to marry at the ‘right’ age. Who thought wearing branded clothes would improve their thinking. She thought she had demons in her mind that made her think that way. What she didn’t realize was those demons were actually angels. Angels that were telling her it was okay to cry without worrying about her Kajal. Angels that were telling her it was okay the wear black, ignoring the eyes of the judgemental. Angels that were telling her that she could marry at the age of fifty. Angels that were telling her it was okay to be her true self. Angels that were guiding her to love herself the way she was. The demons were in the minds of the others.

-Himanshi Pande 

Isle of Boredom

Dauntless dreams they were,

Clueless plans they made,

Worthless lives they lived,

Bore consumed them all !

Grudges of reality,

That overpower their will,

Bags of negativity,

That mold them still.

They never moved,

They never achieved,

For they never tried to surpass the God of negativity.

For bore consumed them all !

-Ishwaryah

Prudence and the Pen

The night was dull and ominous, making Prudence think she was in a cave. But she was tied up in a paddy field in the far east of Kansas. Her eyes were still wrinkly from all the crying and struggling.

Just a few minutes ago she had awaken from the deepest sleep she had had in years. She could barely remember what had happened. A few familiar senior class bullies, a sharp pain on her wrists, and something sour pushed into her mouth. With the result being a lonely orphan tied up in an unfamiliar field.

Prudence was twelve, orphaned at six. She was put in boarding school using the money in her parents insurance just a year after the accident. Highway car crash they said, but she clearly saw the truck switch lanes.

A sudden movement in the bushes nearby alerted her. It was definitely not her imagination, for soon enough, she felt the creature’s breath on her bare feet, but when she looked, she saw nothing.

 A few tense seconds later the creature was on her chest but she still couldn’t see it. Now she was sure it was real, but invisible. She then started feeling nauseated, her surrounding slowly blending and forming different shapes and colours. She was now in her room. The creature was gone but she felt another much lighter weight on her chest. It was a pen and on it was engraved ‘Prudence Poltergeist’

                                                                                    --/--/--/--/--/--/--/--

The portal didn’t apply a pull on her any more, she was too powerful to be affected by locomotomancy. The portal was green today and it was white yesterday and blue the day before that.

As she walked toward it, she was reminded of her past experiences with the portal, from her first day in the library when she first got the Poltergeist pen, to her first time in messing with someone’s life.

She had first rewritten the book of her bully Stacey McGraw and made her eat a frog in front of the whole school on the day of her graduation. Good times which changed the history of all the 23 dimensions. Then she took on responsibility and accepted the duty as the 107^th Poltergeist.

The library was as dark as always, leaving just enough light to read and write. As soon as she entered, the cosmic librarian Miss. Croward Pyralil called in from the announcer…

“Miss Prudence Poltergeist, please report to the head office immediately. I repeat, Miss Prudence Poltergeist, please report to the head office immediately”

So Prudence then visualized the neck of the library and then started to blend in with the surroundings of the left toe of the library, slowly teleporting, and all the while trying to decide which books she wanted to pick up.

--/--/--/--/--/--/--/--

She heard the water splash behind her as she sprinted towards the drylands. The heavy mud beneath her feet weighed her down. She could no longer feel the giant blue cut on her elbow, but she could tell it was spreading. The venom numbed the pain, it seemed, but at the same time decreased he performance.

Prudence had only a few minutes till the venom spread to her fingers and she could no longer use magic. And so as to use the magic she had left within, she looked behind the great beast, which was coloured the same colour as the venom in her arm, trying to blend and teleport, and at the same time materializing a blue obsidian dagger in the palm of her hand.

As soon as she saw the spiny back of scaly blue beast, she pushed the dagger off of her hand, using the locomotive spell for ‘force’’, and towards the beast’s weak point, but it was no use: the dagger bounced right off. The last thing she felt before she blacked out was a stabbing pain in her thigh.

--/--/--/--/--/--/--/--

She awoke with slight thud on her chest. She tried to move, but she was tied up, in the middle of a field.

Oh no…..

Now Prudence was in her old dorm room, and the pen was on her chest. Now Prudence knew exactly what happened. She had been stabbed with the blue obsidian dagger!

These daggers are very dangerous. If you get stabbed or even cut by them, you go into time loop. Your life is replayed again, starting from the most significant point of it, but your physical presence is also absorbed into it. So when your life reaches the true present, you yet again get stabbed or cut by the dagger, thus restarting the cycle.

One thing to note is that however you change your new life, fate throws something at you, and in the end you always end up getting stabbed. The only reason Prudence even thought to use this weapon was because its effects don’t apply on beasts.

--/--/--/--/--/--/--/--

Her poise was that of a tiger, ready to pounce when she needed. She still could barely control her new body. This was the 68^th time she was trying to jump the portal to the real world. The portal was lit with an eerie green-black shade, which tossed her and Miss Croward Pyralil’s shadows across the room. Although Miss Croward would go to another dimension, in this case, the fire realm Kotwalar, a new Prudence would replicate to continue the branch of continuum.

Prudence steadied her legs, getting ready to jump. Somehow, on all the other tries, she was never able to jump into the correct portal. She always knew which portal to go through, but still, she hoped this one was the right one.

A sudden movement drove her attention away from the portal’s light. She saw something black dart towards Miss Croward. Her attention was still away from the portal when she got sucked in. Her confused mind was darting from exit to exit. What colour was the portal? She asked herself. Blue? No, red? Yes, red should do it. But even when she entered the dark red exit, she knew something was off.

--/--/--/--/--/--/--/--

Her surroundings slowly wrinkled into the present, but Prudence still felt that nagging sensation in her gut. Once her eyes adjusted, she found out what it was. Where the Library once stood, was now naught but a few ashen beams and gray backgrounds. The once haughty sky was now black with smoke. The embers were still strong near the centre of the holy mess.

What even happened here? And more importantly, how? Prudence trudged through the rubble, searching for any clue at all. This place…. was the only place she ever remembered as home. And where was Miss Croward? Even as awkward as she was, she was the only person who protected Prudence from her own stupidity.

At last she laid one last step. The ground seemed different. It was even and placed. Prudence looked down to find something coloured a light green beneath her foot. She slowly wiped the tears from her eyes. It was a book. It had a crimson lined border. It looked beautiful. Slowly, Prudence’s eyes moved towards the center of the book.

She felt like she was about to scream. But she didn’t know whether it was in fright, surprise, awe or a sense of completion, for in the center of the book, in elegant and gold leafed letters was written…..

“Prudence Poltergeist”

To be continued....

-Anutthaman

Miracles of Nature

Dawn broke out, as usual, but nobody could catch a glimpse of a beam of light. The fiery sun was battling to be shown as the dark clouds covered the whole sky; they had never retreated since last morning. They were tirelessly pouring out drops of relief for the thirsty earth. The once dry plot was drowned in the defeating showers; it seemed as if it was written down in the scriptures that the fierce rain would lead to victory over the barren land. For the first time, the damaged and worn out tar roads beside my drenched home, were flooded with the waters of the mighty rains.

Tiny frogs were welcoming their season of joy, hopping and croaking merrily. Skinny but long snakes, were skimming through the shallow waters. It was a perfect time for scrumptious feasts indeed. Several meters away from home, a lake which was drained of all its wealth for three years, was now brimming up to the top. I was delighted to see it as it ought to be.

I, as would always do, was admiring the beauty of the snow-white egrets, who had migrated over, and were gathering in flocks in the fields a few feet away from my residence. These enchanting birds, were happily gulping down all the little fish to their heart’s content; they were destined to be in the birds’ mouths after all.

This breathtaking sight sure did please me. ©

-Moneeshau M

FIELD TRIPS AND FILAMENTS

Dusk was crawling up the woods and the cold wind swept over my face. It was a campfire on the final day of our 4 day field-trip to the woods. We lived in a cabin near the bank of a fast-flowing river. The scene was picturesque with the mountains towering over us; they were snow-peaked and had a large rabbit colony living in them. We loved the mountains even though they blocked our view of the rising sun completely.

I had come here with my class from school with 3 chaperones and 12 students. We sat around the warm fire munching roast marshmallows and chicken. I felt bad about leaving this place. Everything here was perfect - no cars, no younger sister and no math. Then, in a distance we heard a howl, a long shrieking howl, the ones that climb up your spine into your brain. Some of the kids thought it was no big deal. They said that it was probably some lone wolf calling out for its friends but I wasn’t so reassured... instead, I felt scared. The chaperones were panicked though - white inside and out. They told us to head back into the log cabin when another piercing howl was followed by a couple of barks. Now everyone was scared stiff and we ran into the cabin. We held our pillows and sat trembling on our beds which wasn’t going to help in any way to defend us against the wolves.

A few minutes passed and the barks were nearing. I was really scared and the chaperones were trying to seal the doors and windows shut. I went into the washroom to calm myself down. I locked the door shut when CRASH! I heard a glass panel shatter which was followed by screams and shrieks all around. I considered myself extremely lucky that the bathroom had no openings except for the locked door. There were no air-vents either to let my smell out and also, I was lucky to ever have gotten to the washroom in the first place. A few more minutes passed.

Then, BANG! SCRATCH SCRATCH , the outer wall of the tiny washroom was going to be ripped apart, instinctively or stupidly, I unlocked the door and ran out.  The room was strewn with blood but there were no bodies, half a wall had been torn down, so the wolves might have taken the bodies out to feast on. Most of the ceiling lights were broken, I took out my torch from my backpack and peered out of the gaping hole, I heard snarls in the opposite direction. I ran straight ahead into the mountains, away from the wolves. I never thought I was capable of running this fast and I surely had never ran this quick before. The terrain started to get sloped. Thinking I’d run into the mountains, which were covered with snow, I thought that I should go down stream into the nearby town and seek help there. I went west towards the river but there was a problem. A cliff separated the land from the banks of the river. It wasn’t that steep of a fall either, the cliff was inclined about 75 degrees and was covered with dead ivy. I slid down using the ivy and ran downstream.

It was easy walking down. All you had to do was keep your feet moving and you could let the ground carry you along the slope.

I was feeling pretty happy that I escaped all of that. As I ran down the pebble ridden bank, I heard the last sound I’d want. A wolf howling. I flashed my torch light and in the distance I could see a couple of wolves running right at me. Here, the cliff was taller and was sloped at right ninety degrees. I panicked and climbed up the dead vine. I reach the top in no time. The wolves were howling at the bottom below me. As I continued walking towards the shore I heard another set of snarls and there were more wolves coming at me on the top of the cliff. I climbed downwards and clung on to the dry ivy. I found a foothold on stood on there and slowly, I realized I had walked right into their feast. They carried their bodies downstream and I didn’t think of that even once. I needed an idea.

 All I had was myself and my torch. And then, in a rare brainwave of mine, I had an idea. The wind was blowing south, downhill. My torch was a filament torch which works by heating a filament that glows bright because of the heat. I took the cap off the filament, touched it to the dry ivy and switched it on. The dead plant caught fire and as the breeze was flowing downwards, the fire spread away from me. I backed off bit and the let the fire spread. The wolves weren’t whining but at least they stopped snapping at my heels. In about thirty seconds, the fire had gone through about fifty feet of dead ivy. Many wolves were backing off. I let another five minutes pass and the fire was beyond my view as the river banked. I got off the cliff as the wolves were a good hundred feet away from me. My hands were numb from holding on so tight. I tore off large pieces of wood. I walked forward, light a piece of ivy and threw it at the wolves. They backed off further as I threw more and more wood. I walked like this all they for about a kilometre when I lit another section of the cliff ivy, now, there almost weren’t any wolves left, and I hoped that they realized that 14 humans were enough. The village was appearing around the corner; I shouted for help and stood there, letting the fire burn around me. Ten minutes later, I was being escorted into the village by a few locals who had shotguns.

A day later, in the village I came to know that all my friends had been killed. I felt sorry for them but honestly, I never really was a social kind of person. In fact, I couldn’t help feel sorry for myself. As I dozed off in the hospital pillows I couldn’t believe that I had to go back to my city life and to my annoying little sister. 

^{-Soumak Nandi}

My New Discovery...

21.7.105 A.T. (After Trump)           

Dear Diary,                                                                                                         8:30 PM

Oh, what was I going to do?!

Earlier today, as usual, I was in the site, helping my boss Gazoon Rai in our new excavation project. To be honest, I was the one who was actually doing all the work; Gazoon was just ordering me around while drinking ice tea from a flask. It was an extremely hot day. I couldn’t have been outside if it weren’t for the sunshade and my hi-tech sunglasses.

“Yet another of these coloured thingies Sir,” I shouted as I took out what Gazoon said pre-Trump humans called ‘plastic’. “God,” he grumbled, “why did these people like plastic so much? It seems as if we are standing on top a town of some sort.”

At lunch, I made my way to the lunch table to rest for sometime, when I stumbled upon something. Of course, I fell down and banged my head on something metallic. I lifted myself up and gazed at what I tripped on, trying to figure out what it was. The tip of a metal prong jutted out of the ground. “Boss,” I shouted. “Whats happened?” he shouted back. I decided not to tell him though. If it was something big, he’d have all the glory and not me. “No, nothing.”

Instead, I went to get my tools. A detector and DustGo vacuum cleaner. I ran the metal detector over the spot where I tripped. The display read, in a mechanical voice, ‘Phoenix Market City. Exactly 997 years old. In a city called Chen-eye.’

Hey, wasn’t that a name for that ancient disease, Madras eye? No wait, my eyes popped out of their sockets. CHENNAI!!! I thought the city was just a myth. But here I was, standing on top of the marvelous city of Chennai!!! Oh how many wondrous things Id heard about this mystical city, with it’s dainty little shops, bustling streets, and where people talked a lot.

Well, didn’t I say that I might discover something big? Even so, I wanted to keep this herculean discovery to myself. I wouldn't want Gazoon to have all the glory, would I? And oh, think about the news. The papers would be flooding with my face, and I’ll be giving interviews to all the famous personalities. Plus, I’d have a ton of fans!!

But first, I’d have to figure out what I was standing up on. What in the world is a Market City? And where did a phoenix come from. Are those even real? Who knew, anything was possible in Chennai, if it even existed…

Oh why did I get stuck in this mayhem?

Your friend,

Nantak Rai

-Adithi Arun

The teacher’s pet

I was so late for class! Surbhi ma’am was going to kill me. I somehow rush up the two floors, reaching my class right when my roll number is being called. Cliché.

“Ruchi?” she calls out

“Yes ma’am.” I ask in fear.

“Why are you late? Just don’t argue. Sit in your place.” She says, an exhausted look on her face. She’s usually never like this. I wonder what the matter is.

After a boring first period of ma’am teaching us Chemistry in the dullest mood possible, we break for snacks. I trot up to my friend, Arushi.

“What’s up with Surbhi ma’am? She’s usually strict yet cheerful, unlike today.” Arushi comments and I can’t help but nod in agreement. We are just heading to the washroom, when Sundaram, an annoying guy in class calls me.

“Surbhi ma’am is calling you in the staffroom.” This doesn’t sound good. She isn’t really fond of me; I wonder what she has to say to me. I walk to the staffroom, quickly explaining to Arushi the situation.

I take permission and walk inside.

“How may I help you ma’am?” I ask, cautiously.

“Please file the leave letters for the month of July and August.” She says, dismissing me off with a nod. As I turn around, I see her phone’s wallpaper. It’s the cutest Pug anyone could ever see. I head towards the door when I hear a sob. I turn around slightly to see ma’am looking at her wallpaper, tears rolling down her cheeks. I’m suddenly not able to cope up in the awkward atmosphere.

“She was my pug. Her name was Cookie. She died 2 days back.” I hear her say. I let out an unexpected gasp. I contemplate between walking out and consoling her. I opt for the latter and I kneel down in front of her.

“Ma’am, Cookie was lucky to have you. You did everything you could to make her happy. Please call for me if I could help in anyway. She’ll always be there in your heart.” I quickly say, get up, dust my uniform and walk out.

My relations with her couldn’t get any better.

-Himanshi Pande

The Video Call

By: Roshni Balasubramanian

It was March when Liz and Andre were lost in a place called boredom. Boredom was a place where most teenagers were stuck in when holidays came by. Soon, even the internet and social media becomes boring. When in school, all they thought about was going on vacation and now all they think about is going back to school.

Liz was usually alone at home, desperate for company. To her disadvantage, she lived far away from all her closest friends and felt left out when they met up without her. She was very attached to her best friend, Andre, and they always had so much fun when they were together.  They had some sort of agreement that whenever their friends met up and Liz couldn’t go, Andre would stay at home too, and video call Liz just to give her company. That’s what friends are for, right?

One particular evening, at the very end of March, Liz was spinning in her office chair while watching YouTube videos that were called ’10 Ways to spend your Holidays’. She heard the phone ringing from the next room, and put her feet firmly on the floor to stop the whirling of the chair. She moved to the room and gave the phone a hideous look as she walked towards it. As soon as Liz saw ‘ANDRE’ on the caller ID, she literally ran towards the phone.

She answered the call with a rather loud “HEY!” and Andre yelled back. Andre was just as bored as Liz was and informed Liz that all their friends were meeting up once again. “When?” Liz asked. “They are at the bowling alley, playing as we speak”, Andre said with a brisk tone. “How come they never even asked me if I wanted to go? Why didn’t you go?” Liz asked confusedly. “They probably know that you can’t make it. I’m sure they feel just as awful as you. But, I decided not to go. It wouldn’t be much fun if your best friend can’t make it?” Andre said in her usual, comforting voice. Liz instantly felt better, not because of what Andre had said, but because she knew that she and her best friend were going to have more fun that night than any of her friends would.

Liz went back to her office chair and sat down, impatiently waiting for Andre to set up her webcam. After the call started, they talked on and on about nothing in particular. It was the most fun Liz had had all day. After a while, after Andre and Liz had finished gossiping and chattering, Liz said “So when does school reopen again?”

“For me it’s the 5^th of April and for you it’s the 8th of April”

“What do you mean? Doesn’t school start at the same time for all 10^th graders?”

“Oh yeah!  I forgot to mention this earlier, but I’m moving schools.”

“Yo-You’re doing what?”

“It happened suddenly. I’m so sorry.”

Both of them just shared a moment of silence.

Liz filled up the quietness and said in a glum tone “How could you do this to me? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

Andre gave doltish excuses. 

“I didn’t mean it, Liz. Oh my god, what’s happening? I don’t feel very well. My throat feels like its closing up. Ah! Help.” “Oh my, are you okay? Don’t panic. Tell me exactly what you’re feeling.” Liz said without a pause.

“HELP. HE-HELP. IT HURTS. Help. He-helpp. help” Andre said, looking almost unaware of what was happening to her. She then closed her eyes and her body just fell back into her chair. “OH NO!! WHAT HAVE I DONE? WHAT HAVE I DONE? I SHOULD HAVE JUST CALLED HER PARENTS! WHAT HAVE I DONE?”

Liz sat, with both her hands on her head, staring at Andre’s dead body with remorse. Tears fell from her eyes. She looked at her best friend’s face through the screen and had a montage of memories flash before her eyes. After a few minutes of silence, Liz still did not know what to do but stare into the screen and cry.

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!” Andre screamed which threw Liz off her chair.

Chuckling, Andre looked at Liz as she got up and said “APRIL FOOLS!!!”

Liz wiped her eyes, looked at the time which read 12:06 AM and told Andre, “I hate you so much right now. That was so horrible. I didn’t know what to do. You should be a professional actor you know. Ugh. That was so mean.”

“I’m sorry. But wasn’t that so much fun? Ah, that was the best wasn’t it? April Fools’ Day got the best of me.” Andre chortled out.

“Please don’t do that to me ever again. I love you so much and you made me so guilty for saying all those things about you leaving school. It IS your decision. I’m sorry, Andre.

“I was kidding about that too” Andre said struggling to keep a straight face. “I guess I got you twice. Do you think I would actually leave this school and not tell you? That’s crazy.”

“Well, at least now, we can tell our friends what we did when we didn’t go bowling and this time we’d be telling the truth.”

“I’m so glad to have you as my friend.” they told each other.

Miss Mischievous No More

Gazing dismally into her bright, twinkly irises,

The devil itself, flickering, in their glittery fervor

Now, glancing aloofly back at me, devoid of even

A single, lone remnant of her effervescent past identity

Her trademark impish grin, that barred her excited self

Has bleached out to a thin, weary line

She’s undeniably drained and listless, her soul

Beaten to a paper thin.

Her lifeline, her ticket to popularity,

The defiant, disobedient exterior,

that described her, so well

At present, fading away to dissolute yes-nods

I long to reach out and rekindle

The blazing flames, that had been extinguished

When her pranks slid to an abrupt end;

When cruel, restraining chains fell upon her,

As she struggled against its merciless grip…

The cheeky devil, my ingenious friend,

A steadily gushing waterfall of mischief

Has been drowned, in the ocean of discipline

Just like how a tender green leaf, swimming in energy

And breathing in tireless spirit, slowly withers

Into a lifeless rustle of dull soiled brown

She has been stifled, her very essence quenched.

Now, as she raises her hand carelessly to make a stupid remark, I glimpse the uncertainty in her eyes.

She brings those wavering fingers rapidly down,

Frightened to be demeaned, yet again,

By firm, unyielding hands, ready to silence her. 

-Meghana

Inconspicuous Murderers

Artists look up to Leonardo da Vinci. Writers look up to Shakespeare. But a teenager who lives in Ram Nagar, looks up to a fictional character, Hercule Poirot. Agatha Christie had succeeded at inspiring Zia with her most famous detective character. But not just that, Agatha also presented Zia with an unusual fear. As pages of creative murder turn, the curtains of her bedroom are drawn aside in fear of finding hidden murderers. Zia didn’t even leave a dusty corner. The first ritual taken care of by Zia was checking behind curtains and under the beds, every time she entered a room. Wow! That sure is a weird habit and a wonderful target for a murderer. Something very queer in her life began with a wonderful sunset. Zia, having unloaded the burden of her heavy homework, sat down in a cozy corner with an Agatha Christie book. Plunged into the mysterious world, little did she take notice of her life-changing happenings in the cruel world. A creaking door snapped the bridge to her imagination in half, leading her to fall back to reality. Did she check behind the curtains? Did she she look behind the doors and under the bed? The loneliness surely didn’t brighten up the situation. She froze all of a sudden, having just been struck by a thunderous thought.

“Manu!” she called out frantically. Where was her brother? There, her mother was going to yell at her head off at Zia for not taking good care of him. There was a serious rush to her brother’s room. The gaming console and his Marvel figurines were scattered on the floor. Zia felt her heart hammering rapidly. Then echoed through the house, a shriek overflowing with agony. Zia ran back to her reading spot and found her book neatly placed on the bookshelf.

“Manu?” she stuttered, “Are you playing a prank?” She walked towards the couch and quickly looked behind. In the tremendous shock of finding someone crouched behind the couch, she whipped out a razor, that she had always carried with her, and slashed, whoever it was, blindly. Zia opened her eyes reluctantly and looked at the terrible sight, with horror.

It was Manu.

What had she done? Her reflexes were the culprit of an irreversible mistake. But as she looked closer, Zia came upon a strange knife, driven straight into Manu’s stomach. No, something wasn’t right! Who had done that to her brother? Zia jumped startled, as something wet trickled her feet. Blood. Her brother was a bloody mess. Pale-faced, she couldn’t bring herself to shed even a few tears.

Suddenly, someone tried to cover her mouth and bind her hands. Remember the razor she held tightly in her hand? Without a second thought, she pushed it into the stranger’s chest. With a loud thud, the stranger fell back.

As Zia watched in horror, the intruder stumbled out of the house.

She sat down to weep, but she sneezed unexpectedly. Her phone beeped and displayed a message.

“God bless you!” ©

-Bhavana

God's Grace

The beautiful pillars of the Krishna temple helped Sita hide herself from the large crowd which had gathered there to watch and listen to her counterpart, who was fortunate enough to get an opportunity which the poor girl always craved for- a concert.

Sita belonged to a family that struggled to even provide basic amenities to their only daughter. From the very beginning Sita had a fascination for Carnatic music. The assumption of the 12-year old girl, that only the rich and privileged girls could sing, never allowed her to bring out her true talent. But everywhere these magical notes were heard, Sita would listen keenly making sure nobody noticed her presence. “I hope someday Appa would earn enough to send me to classes, and I could sing to the Lord everyday…” she murmured to herself with a sigh.

Whether or not the Carnatic masters arrived on time to teach her neighbours, Sita would assemble enthusiastically next to the window at sharp 8:30 a.m. As they sang keerthanas, the lively girl would learn everything by heart and sing them to herself in such a soothing tone.

“Sita! Why do you waste your time like this? Go and take care of the animals instead of wasting time on something you can’t do,” were the heartless words of her mother, who never understood Sita’s pleasures; but there was someone who did.

Thursday and Friday evenings gave joy to Sita. She would run barefoot a few kilometers away from her small hut into a similar kachcha house, exclaiming, “Tarun, I learnt a new song today!” And there lay her young cousin who was a victim of tuberculosis. Sita would bring the outer world to life with her healing songs for him as his pain would slowly diminish. “Akka, why don’t you ever sing at temples? All the villagers would be enchanted by your melodies!”he would ask her enthusiastically, but all Sita could give was a sad sigh.

Days passed by and every minute Tarun’s condition grew worse. One evening, while Sita was so absorbed in singing ‘Kurai Ondrum Illai’, she didn’t notice her brother’s heavy breathing. “Sita!” a weak voice called out, and she ran to him with full concern. “My time is nearing Akka. Tell Amma and Appa I love them immensely. Will you fulfill my last wish? In the upcoming Margazhi month you have to perform and make your parents and me proud. Will you do it Akka?” he asked almost running out of breath. “Anything for you my dear brother. Now, wait. Let me call chitti quickly.” But it was too late. Tarun left this world with a smile rested on his face while Sita sat hopelessly shedding millions of tears and worriedly thought how she would make his wish come true.

A week passed. Sita made some serious plans and commenced her work. Every morning before the sun rose, the sound of the Tambura and Sita’s melodious voice would be heard from the music classroom. She would rush back home before the village awakened and was lucky not get caught by the owner.

By that time, a new priest moved in next door. That bright morning, he happened to wake up early and was surprised to hear the noise from next door. He walked to the door and asked,” who is in there practicing so early in the morning?” Sita’s heart began to beat rapidly and her body shivered as she walked towards the door. There stood a hefty man to whom she confessed. Surprisingly, he offered her for a concert at the temple! Sita couldn’t believe it and she was so excited!! How she waited for such an opportunity! She happily agreed and decided to go back home, but something startled her. She heard the crying of a girl in the next room. She overheard the girl’s mourning.” My dad has lost his job and he can’t pay my music fees anymore! I wanted to sing at the temple so badly but this has made my life so miserable.” A feeling of empathy grew in Sita and she wanted to help the girl badly but she was nervous to speak. But leaving her fear aside, she bravely entered the room. “Don’t worry. You are going to sing next week. The next door priest has made me an offer but I’ll tell him to exchange it with you….” Said Sita with such a caring voice and had no regret. The girl was truly touched and thanked her a lot.

The big day had come and Sita hesitantly took a seat in the front row. She sat admiring the girl’s singing as she too mouthed the lyrics to herself. A rich looking man seated next to her looked at Sita with more interest than the girl who was performing. Sita felt awkward but ignored the man. Few minutes passed, but his eyes were still fixed on her innocent face. The programme ended and Sita decided to leave. “Wait!” said the man while Sita stood there confused and disturbed. “Would you like to sing the day after tomorrow in this village’s biggest Krishna temple nearby? The crowd would surely be delighted to listen to a little girl sing.” Sita’s heart brightened again but she couldn’t comprehend the situation. She stammered, “I – I would gladly accept your offer sir. Bu-but may I know who you are sir?”

“I live in Nettur, the nearby area. Recently, a small boy next to my house passed away due to a lung disorder…poor soul. It was then I decided to provide opportunities to the ones who deserve them.  Anyhow, Thank you. I shall see you day after tomorrow! All my wishes to you!” The man then left leaving Sita wondering. The village sounded very familiar to her. She gasped, “It’s Tarun’s village!” Sita returned home very delighted and awaited the best day of her life.

” Tarun would be so proud of me….”

-Moneeshau

The katha search for excellence is back this year.
Please follow the link given for details!

http://www.ilovereading.in/Resources/LatestUpdates/invite-for-schools-27.06.16.pdf

To my brilliant English class! 10A

 To my brilliant English class (10A-2015-16)

 

K Geethanjali   
Department of English                                                       

The wheels of time turn as they  flow

And generations come and go!

But some people leave a void in your heart

That can never be filled as they depart.

The time has come to say good bye      

With many a tear and many a sigh,

Oh, my dear English class,

It was great while it did last !

The school halls did ring

With all the stories you did bring.

There was never a dull day

While you could step into 10A.

To divert the class,for  some it was a mission

With mischief their eyes would glisten!

The gentle ones were quiet and nice

Naughty or nice , 10 A is full of spice.

Annual Days will never be the same ,

Without our actors and   script writers 
on top of the game .

Debators ,here you will find in plenty,

In this class you will find God’s bounty!

As a teacher of English you would expect to find

Flowery words  spilling out from my mind.

But figures of speech  elude this poem of mine.

As all I can say is expressed in this one line-

‘Nothing can compare to you all!’

In life may you all stand tall!

I know as  I bid adieu

The school will not be the same without you!

The Wall of Writer's Block

By Archana Ramakrishnan

>
 The wall spoke,
 Of how tall her inhibitions stood,
 Of how her sanity it consumed,
 Of how all her fears only fumed.

"Stop, you failure! "
"You've had zilch successes all through this year."
 "Your words are incomprehensible, incoherent even,"
 "Inadequate, incompetent, I can name a list of ten."
 "Don't you realise that you're an excuse of a writer?"
 "That for a losing cause, you're a fighter?"
>
The wall roared, yelled even louder, 
 The demons that surrounded her just couldn't be prouder,
 And bit by bit, the wall grew in enormity, 
Shadowing Miss Writer's mind in total obscurity.
>
In the next moment of a revolution, one look was all it took,
To understand a reality clear enough, that her world shook.
 It wasn't the wall that was at it with the retorts, 
 But it was her own skeptic voice, that echoed back like darts.
>
 Coming to her senses, she grabbed her pen, 
>She wrote on the wall, strong, emboldening words that did defend.
Tearing it down- the wall that held doubts, fears and every unanswered question,
 She saw it all crumble down and come undone,
 And, then, there were none.

A short poem...

SUNRISE

The wind blew, 
leaving the trees to sway,
Bright orange leaves,
on a path gently lay.

Down a tender leaf,
goes a dew drop sliding,
to call upon the sun rays,
behind the mountains, hiding.

Fresh beautiful flowers,
blooming in the daylight,
awakening little creatures,
for, gone was the night.
                          
                            - Alina

Spirituality – Now…do we know what it really means?

I didn’t. Most of us think we know what it means when we hear the word spiritual. It generally translates to a person who is getting closer to ‘sanyasa’ which means letting go of attachments towards worldly possessions for the sake of attaining god. This was my perception too…mostly. I mean, I never felt the need to think beyond this point.


But a big change in perspective came a few months ago. I would like to think that it was because of yoga (as it happened during the same time I started attending yoga classes). Incidentally, reading (I must say re-reading as I had read this book before but it didn’t make an impact on me at that time) Robin Sharma’s “The Monk Who Sold his Ferrari” did help to some extent in creating an intrigue towards this topic. Now, don’t get me wrong; I am not taking you through some spiritual experience of mine. I was a skeptic and I am sure you are too…


Once this new interest took over me, I started doing a little research and turns out that spirituality has more to do with mind power. Being spiritual actually means being in total control of yourself…your thoughts and actions. Ahhh…now you know why we associate spirituality to sages; because they are the ones in this mortal world who have the power to stay calm and composed, have complete control over their thoughts and actions.


We don’t have to renounce worldly possessions and head towards the mighty Himalayas to become spiritual. We can do what we are doing; Be a mother, father, son or daughter. Be a banker, software engineer, doctor or a business man. You could be anybody. Just cleanse your thoughts (read “remove negative thoughts”) and reflect inwards more often. Allocate time in your busy schedule for self improvement. Imagine what it would be like if we could control every single thought that enters our mind. We could react differently to situations and in turn change the course of events that follow. We would become a better mother, better father…..a better person.


“As you think, so you become.....Our busy minds are forever jumping to conclusions, manufacturing and interpreting signs that aren't there.”


This quote started making sense. We slowly and steadily fall into the trap of developing negative thoughts from as early as our childhood. Always imagining the worst case scenario, so that, anything that happens will not be as bad as we thought it to be. This kind of negative thought process gives us a false sense of power over our situations but in reality, we just keep falling into an endless trap of negativity, which ends up ruining the way we look at life in all its glory.


Be positive. Think positive. How many times have we heard or read these statements? This is the most profound statement you will ever hear. We need to stop taking false cover under our negative thoughts and stop being in constant fear of any wrath which will befall us if we think positive.


Let’s take a bold step, let’s become spiritual and allow ourselves to think positive and reap the benefits it has to offer. Being Spiritual, is being a better you.

Blind

I just saw this old poem I wrote a few years ago, so I thought I will post it. Hope you like it!!

                                                                                  -Alina E

Blind

Darkness has stolen the night,

There is not a single sign of light

No beautiful scenes or a pleasant sight,

You don't know what's wrong or right.

Your breath is stuck,

You have no luck

You can only feel,you can only hear,

Happiness is never near.

You always search, you always fight

For your only lost sight.

Breaths of Friendship

Warmth and care wove our hearts together on that memorable day, half-a-decade ago, when I was wandering the floors of a claustrophobic mall aimlessly in search of a bosom friend. There she was, sitting idly in a corner as she tapped her feet, in sync to the ticking of the clock. I turned a slave to my instincts and every particle in me witnessed the beginning of this resplendent friendship.

She ignited my dormant spirits and triumphed at oozing out the socialite in me. It was as if she had lifted me off a neglected shelf and dusted me till I was as good as new.

Whenever I felt like I was doomed, she would reach out and steer me towards the light at the end of my tunnel. Her magnetic allure made sure that I never had to travel far in search of a time killer.

Whenever I was lost, I could always count on her bright red dot to help me choose the right path where two roads diverged.

Quiz? Debate? Essay? Report? My dear friend, with an encyclopaedia implanted in her brain, never backed away from my inquisitive questions, no matter how intricately they were designed.

Now, I watch her die.

Till now, I’ve never been able to fathom her being ill, but now my robust hopes seem to have been shattered to smithereens. I see her breathing heavily, each breath of hers rushing my adrenalin as the inevitable truth of her demise looms closer.

I fumble frantically for something… Anything… That could convince Charon to decline the drachma my friend is unsympathetically offering him.

I see something white, with a gleam in its eye. And as it beckons to me, relief tingles in me. I connect the lifesaver to this share of my soul and see her charged with life again.

I caress my dear, dear phone.

– Bhavana and Meghana

To all the young writers over there. Here is a writing planner you can use through the year.
Happy Writing!


http://www.creative-writing-now.com/support-files/writingplanner2016.pdf



Geetha